


All who make it out alive are Heroes

by barefootwits



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Horror, Humor, M/M, Mild Language, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 03:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barefootwits/pseuds/barefootwits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles are captured by a distinct group of hunters: ones that sell supernatural creatures to be hunted and killed for sport. If they manage to escape, they'll have to work together to make it all the way back to Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All who make it out alive are Heroes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [threesteps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/threesteps/gifts), [grangerbutstranger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grangerbutstranger/gifts).
  * Inspired by [All who make it out alive are Heroes - Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/634733) by [threesteps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/threesteps/pseuds/threesteps). 



> Written for the [2012 Teen Wolf Reverse Bang on lj.](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/profile)
> 
> S2 has virtually not happened, aside from Derek expanding his pack with Erica, Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson (who is a werewolf rather than the kanima.)
> 
> Huge thank you to my wonderful beta, [grangerbutstranger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grangerbutstranger/pseuds/grangerbutstranger). Thank you so much for taking the time to read through this massive thing and offer me really brilliant suggestions!!
> 
> And also a massive thank you to [threesteps](http://archiveofourown.org/users/threesteps/pseuds/threesteps), who made the [brilliant piece of art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/634733) which this entire fic is inspired from.

Stiles' breath is gone. He lost it a while ago, and being thrown down on cement doesn't help in the process of him getting it back. It hurts, and his heart is hammering, like he's absolutely going to die. Except he isn't. 

He lies on the floor and keeps trying to breathe, only vaguely aware of other things. Vaguely aware of other beings surrounding him, but none moving towards him. No one is picking him back up just to bruise or cut him again. Not yet. So he stays there for several minutes until his body realizes that his lungs are still there.

The air tastes like blood. 

Bitter, sharp, assaulting his throat and nose, and he either coughs because the rush of air he gets is too sudden, or because the scent is so strong.

Then he really tastes it, actual blood in his mouth, registering throbbing pain above one eye, now that he has enough oxygen for his brain to process it. He tongues the bow of his mouth, finding a slightly sticky trail. Without thinking, he rubs his forearm over his face. It comes away with a long red smear he grimmaces at.

Someone grabs that arm, while he's still focused on it, and Stiles' head snaps up, only to recieve a hard blow from a fist. He's shoved over and his wrists are yanked behind him while he's still reeling a bit. They're tied with something thin that cuts into his skin if he shifts too much. Tightly.

He's glad his cheek is pressed into the floor. He can hear a low buzzing, groans of pain, and then footsteps and the solid clank of the door closing.

The buzzing stops, but then he starts hearing a strangled growl that sounds like his name. 

When he listens closer, it's definitely his name.

Stiles manages to roll over and push himself a bit upright. His eyes need time to adjust to the strange, very dim room, but also to the amount of people he can see around him. His gaze goes from one pain-wracked form, chained by their wrists the way he's tied, to the next, and to the next, and...

"Derek!"

Stiles' feet are already moving before he actively tells them to, his upper body lurching forward so he can find his footing. If he staggers, it's only for a second, because then he's on his knees on the far side of the room, crouched next to Derek. 

Derek, bound heavily in chains and bleeding from more places than Stiles can see. 

"Shit!" 

There's a clash of brown eyes on ones that reflect the forest.

"God, they used wolfsbane bullets, didn't they?" Stiles' voice comes out heavy and rushed, but staggers on the end. "How can we get out of here? We need to get you out, soon, or you're going to-"

Stiles had turned his head to survery the room, but a strong nudge against his arm brings his gaze back around to Derek, who's forehead is pressed against his bicep until he pulls back to fix Stiles with a hard look. 

"They're coming back. Turn around."

"What?"

"Stiles, turn around!"

When Stiles does, Derek shifts until he has a knee under Stiles' hands, then pushes them up until they're high enough for him to lean forward and bite through whatever has them bound. The noise when he breaks through it is metallic, and Stiles quickly turns around and picks it up.

"Piano wire..." He feels along it. "Serrated..."

"These aren't ordinary hunters, they're-"

Derek whips his head up, pauses for a moment, face hard, before he lets out a feral growl. Stiles stares at him, brow furrowed and mouth open, but then the static noise starts again, the door shoves inward and four men stride in, coming straight toward them. One of them grabs him roughly by the neck, the others looking down at Derek while he writhes from the electricity passing through him. They only let it go on for a few seconds, then turn it off, grabbing Derek when he goes limp and dragging him toward the door.

"He broke the wire." The man holding Stiles says to the others, giving Stiles a violent shake. 

"Doesn't matter," Another replies, looking up with a nasty sneer, "We'll have to put him in chains like the rest of this filth in a minute." 

"Whoa, whoa, why am I going to be in chains?"

The hunters grumble, one laughs, and Derek strains against his chains with what strength he has. When Stiles looks down at him in startled confusion, he sees that Derek's eyes are flickering between red and their normal hue. 

"Stiles, don't let them-"

Stiles yells when the gun fires. His knees try to buckle, but he's yanked back upright. The other figures in the room shift and all slowly start growling, and then it hits Stiles. He's the only human captive in the room. He's useless to them. They're going to have him bitten. 

He's not sure Derek is even still alive for a minute, until he sees him lower his head, enlongated teeth gritted together. Blood starts spilling and sliding down Derek's leg from below his knee. 

"Oh my _god_ ," Stiles gasps, and then looks backward over his shoulder at the hunter restraining him. There's a gruesome smirk in place on the man's face. 

One of the other hunters looks annoyed. "I still say we should get rid of the kid. We'd only get about an extra grand for him, and we're already transporting an overflow. Keeping him alive on the trip is going to cost just as much as we earn for him." 

The others are silent for a while, but then shake their heads in disagreement. Stiles' personal captor looks at him critically, and though Stiles avoids his gaze, he feels like prey. "The alpha will go for over a million. With the kid as an addition, that's a fortune."

Stiles starts to struggle. 

He doesn't want the bite. He wants to stay the way he is. He wants to be able to keep his life, because he's been the witness to both Scott's and some of Derek's, and his life is already hard because of theirs'. He doesn't want to put his dad's life in danger more by being a creature that will constantly be chased down and hunted. 

Somehow, he gets free. And the only thing he can think of to do is what he does. He rushes to Derek and grabs hold of the chains crossing his chest, and just holds on. A hand starts to pull him off, but a scream and a smatter of blood on Stiles' shoulder tells him Derek bites that hand. 

The small chaos continues with Derek being pulled up to his feet, Stiles coming up with him, and two of the hunters dragging them out into a blank, white hall. The hunter Derek bit isn't screaming now, but pleading from inside the room. His begs are cut short by a bullet.

There's not even a beat before more hunters round a corner and arms come around Stiles' middle, out of the range of Derek's teeth, and they try to separate the two of them. Stiles' instincts scream at him not to let go, and his knuckles turn white around the chains. He feels them imprinting into his palms and fingers, and his wrists start aching. And Derek has to be in agony, but Stiles won't let go, he won't. 

Derek lurches, after a hard pull, black liquid falling from his mouth onto the achingly bright tile.

"We have to get the alpha stabilized before the wolfsbane reaches his heart. Just take the kid, too!" A hunter shouts.

They're pushed down the hall and through a door into a room that looks almost normal. Like a kitchen, if it weren't for the rows and rows of undiscernable herbs, bullets, and weapons on the shelves. And if not for the pool of blood on the island counter.

Someone nudges Stiles, but doesn't try to break him away, just tries to manhandle him to the side. "If you want your alpha friend to live through the next hour, stay out of the way right there." 

Stiles meets Derek's eyes. They can only barely focus on him, so he does as he's told, watching carefully as the hunter withdraws a pouch and shakes out a large handful of what Stiles recognizes as powdered wolfsbane. They apparently shot Derek six times, including the shot fired in the other room. Derek's body arches and stretches severely when the wolfsbane is applied, but he's almost entirely silent, which has to take all of his effort. It quickly seeps into his system and allows him to heal, almost making Stiles relieved. He looks to the hunter, not about to say thanks, but something. 

And Stiles watches him stab Derek through the chest before Stiles can get in the way again.

Derek loses consciousness, so he doesn't live through Stiles latching back on to the chains around him. They are the most solid thing there is to grab onto and the hunters aren't going to take them off, just like Stiles isn't going to let go. Stiles yells when the hunters haul he and Derek up, yells about how Derek is losing blood everywhere, and he's seriously not sure whether or not Derek can heal from this, which is a feeling that shouldn't be common, but is. He yells when they're pulled out a door and they're outside and the hunters slam them into the back of an armored truck, yells until the impact with the wall against the cab knocks the breath out of him and he's lying on the floor for a second time.

He has a hand gripping Derek's chains the whole time, by now slick with Derek's blood. 

He lies there until he gets his breath back and by then they're moving. And Derek's moving.

"You're not dead. Thank god you're not dead," Stiles breathes out heavily, when Derek lifts his head, eyes clenched shut for a moment, before blinking open at him.

Derek's eyes shift, taking in his location, then land on Stiles. Stiles waits for him to say something, but Derek just looks at him. Then Stiles realizes Derek is examining him, looking for something specific. It's unnerving. "Can you stop that?"

Immediately, Derek's eyes are level with his. "How badly did they hurt you?"

It's the first time Stiles does a run down of everywhere on his body that hurts. Which is a lot of places. He settles for sort of shrugging. "I'm just happy I'm breathing," he says quietly. 

The truck jolts and Derek slides across the floor, chains rattling, until his side bumps Stiles'. Stiles pushes up on his arms and looks down at him. "Did they heal you completely from those bullets?" 

"Yeah. They can't sell me if I'm dead. Stupid move."

"But good thing they're idiots," Stiles affirms, then chews his lip. "You'll be able to break those chains, won't you, when your strength is back?" 

There's a moment of silence, Derek thinking about how he broke the chains Kate had bound him in when he'd learned what Peter had done. The emotions from that come back to him, his body tenses, and he only notices that Stiles has shoved himself against the side of the truck, eyes very wide, when he hears the chains dropping to the floor and looks up. 

Stiles draws in a long breath. "Well... I'll dwell on how cool that was later, if we don't die." 

"We have to escape before we get wherever they're taking us," Derek says, voice quiet, watching as Stiles straightens up, like he's ready to do whatever it takes. And he probably is. 

The teenager gets to his feet, though he can't quite stand in the space, and makes his way to the doors that open at the rear. "This is one of those situations that we won't live through if we arrive at the destination, isn't it?" 

"Surviving would be the unlikely outcome," Derek agrees, and moves to join Stiles, both of them surverying their only plausible escape. Stiles' hands are on the metal of the door, exploring the edges and hinges, and Derek notices that his wrists are marred and that his palms have angry looking cuts across them, and they're leaving bloody traces everywhere he touches. When he pulls off his black top, even though it's sticky now from his previous wounds, Derek just ignores Stiles' confused look. He rips the cleanest parts of the material into strands, then grabs Stiles' hands. 

The shape Stiles' mouth makes is very round as he breathes out an, "Oh." But he's mostly quiet while Derek secures the makeshift bandages, and he makes sure he can flex his fingers without them falling off. Derek doesn't explain that he does it because they can't have Stiles leaving behind a trail when they escape. It's not for any other reason.

Still, Stiles tilts his head down, but looks up at Derek and offers a small grin. 

Then he's back to checking out the doors. Derek mostly watches. 

It's unfortunate that Stiles is here. Bad timing. The hunters hadn't even known Stiles was human until he and Derek had been dragged into their base and they'd seen the bruise developing on the unconscious teen's jaw from an initial punch back in the woods. Which, if he were a wolf, would be healed. Derek had heard how they took out their anger on Stiles, after they had put Derek in chains and shoved him in that room with all the other captives. If he channels his hearing, he's aware of the current silence from the cab of the truck. 

He'll find out why Stiles was in the woods, but not now. Now is the time to get out.

It's clear by Stiles' continued efforts that he has no ideas yet on what they can do, and Derek's sure that the truck has been used several times to transport werewolves, so he doubts exerting his strength will do more than cause him unnecessary tire. In a few moments, Stiles stops, fingers touching one of the blotches he's left behind. He looks down at his hands thoughtfully. 

"You bite me." 

Derek scowls at Stiles, waiting, because he knows that's not the answer, and Stiles doesn't disappoint him, continuing with, "Not actually. But they won't know that."

"You don't think they'll suspect that?" Derek asks lowly.

"How long did it take them to realize I'm human?" Stiles counters. Which, yeah. "It's the only thing we have to try. I'll start shouting and screaming, you get into your alpha mode or whatever, and as soon as they open the doors you can take them down or we can run." 

It has lots of gaps, little chance, and could end with them dead. Derek doesn't see another option and commits to the plan with a short growl. 

When Stiles starts screaming, it's a shock. Derek's heart is suddenly slamming against his chest, even though he can clearly hear the steady thumping of Stiles' telling him nothing's wrong, nothing's hurting him, he's fine and Derek doesn't have to save him. 

Derek barely has time to shift form before the rear doors of the truck yank open, and he didn't even notice the truck had braked. They really are stupid, these hunters. They wanted to turn Stiles in the first place and here they are panicked that Derek has done it for them. He understands that, though; having a new beta and his alpha together would be total disaster for them. Especially because it's a full moon. 

Stiles' shouts carry on right up to the moment Derek's leapt from the van and has two hunters out cold on the ground, and the screams cut off abruptly when Derek grabs Stiles' hoodie sleeve, pulling him from the truck, and then taking off in a mad dash into the forest surrounding the compeltely unlit road. The two of them run, aware of the crashing feet behind them for a while until it's just their own solid steps. They keep on running a bit more, before Stiles' voice reaches through to Derek. 

"Dude, I have to stop," he pants. Looking at him over his shoulder, Derek slows down, and then lets them come to a stand still. Stiles huffs in and out air. His lungs have endured a lot tonight. His eyebrows try to meet as he looks at Derek for a long moment. Derek is about to ask him what, but then, "Are your claws stuck in my sleeve or something?"

The sleeve is balled in his fist, still. Stiles watches Derek let go and tilts his head back with an exasperated huff when he sees the tear that indicates, yes, Derek's claws did rip it. But he doesn't comment or complain beyond that. 

Derek changes back to his human form, which is something Stiles has witnessed several times, but he still makes a face like he's dissecting a frog. But then he grins, and he's looking at Derek again, through his eyelashes, with his head tilted down just slightly. "I thought you were going to do the all-fours thing and leave me behind at one point."

"Why would I leave you behind?"

The grin drops, and Derek levels Stiles' gaze. 

It starts drizzling, cutting short the quiet, soft moment. Stiles tugs his hood up and jams his hands into his pockets, blinking through the drops, and he doesn't say anything, just begins walking further into the woods. 

"Where are you going?" Derek asks, voice pitched into the rain.

"I don't have wolf senses, so I don't know which way home is, but I know the hunters are back there," Stiles gestures, "and I know we need to find some kind of shelter. If you'd like to lend your wolfy powers to find somepl-"

"This way," Derek gruffs, brushing past Stiles. 

They walk until they're drenched, checking around them in the pitch dark for anywhere that might give them relief from the pattering as it only grows harsher. There are only faint sounds. Mostly, Stiles' sneakers being sucked at by the mud. After a while, Derek becomes aware of a clicking noise.

"Your teeth are chattering." 

"Correct," Stiles retorts, fiercely hugging himself to contain any heat he might have left.

"Stiles, you have open wounds."

"Also correct," Stiles says, and it's with a laugh this time, good-natured. Derek steps up about a foot in front of him, though, and, seeing Derek's face, Stiles' goes serious. "You're looking at me like I'm a pathetic, breakable human."

"You are a-"

"Ok, you know what I meant." 

Derek huffs. "Your body is already working to heal you, but it can't do everything at once. You already smell weak."

Stiles looks insulted for a second. "I _smell_ weak?"

"Yes," Derek sighs. "We're probably four days' travel from Beacon Hills, and you're going to get sick, or worse."

The grin comes back. Derek doesn't know why it comes back. This isn't exactly a good situation.

"Says the shirtless guy." 

Oh. 

"I'm a werewolf." 

A nod. "Sure, yeah, established. The shirtless _werewolf_."

Derek turns and tramps off through the woods again, laughter following behind him. 

They find their shelter only a little ways later in the form of a concrete pipe that's next to a sloping, mud-slicked drop. It makes Stiles wary, and he starts talking about some computer game with a man in a tuxedo that attacks you in the woods. His voice echoes down through the tube, and it should be annoying when Stiles realizes there's an echo and starts making weird noises, but instead it makes Derek relaxed. 

"You should howl. It would sound so cool in here," Stiles says cheerfully, settling down finally. It's hard to find a comfortable way to lie until they manouver so they're horizontal with the tube rather than leaning against the curved sides. Derek lies with his head closest to one end of the pipe and Stiles is not quite further than the middle. Their legs don't have enough room not to touch. 

"If we hadn't just escaped slave-trade hunters... I still wouldn't howl in here."

"Sourwolf," Stiles complains, but then he's propped up on his elbows and nudges Derek with his foot until Derek sits up some, too, so they can look at each other. Stiles appears bothered. "Is that a thing that hunters usually do? Sell supernatural creatures? I thought they just... well, killed them." 

When Derek shakes his head, Stiles only slightly looks settled. "It's rare. Shady. It's mostly done by hunters who have done something to get cast out of their groups. They try to sell werewolves to any family of hunters who will buy them, and see if that family will take them in."

"Sounds an awful lot like omegas..." Stiles says, voice very restrained. 

Derek's never thought about it enough to make the connection, but hearing it, he snorts in agreement. He lowers himself back down, but Stiles doesn't stop there.

"Why do the families buy werewolves?" 

Derek lifts his head back up only for a second, and can see in those brown eyes that Stiles already knows the answer. That it's one big game for those hunters. Buy a creature just to kill it. 

He just stretches out, one leg plastered against one of Stiles' feet, and he tries to sleep. Tries to ignore the moon.

Somehow, he manages a few hours, until Stiles somehow manages to kick the back of his thigh in a very limb-involved attempt to roll on his side. The rain is just mist now, the pipe thick with it. There's a stillness about it that Derek doesn't like, but he strains all of his senses and there's nothing he can pick up. 

He does pick up the even weaker smell around Stiles, and sits up. Stiles kicked off his shoes, it seems, and when Derek reaches out and grabs one of the teen's feet to move his leg off Derek's, the heat seeping off of Stiles shocks him. It's not a high-grade fever, but a fever nonetheless, he knows that much. He's only a little settled when he notices that there's sweat along Stiles' hairline, and he hopes the fever is breaking, and not taking hold. 

Which is when he realizes he cares. Not just in passing concern, and not because it's a burden, but he really cares that Stiles isn't well. He feels a jolt of irritation that Stiles is here now because of him, because the hunters would never have taken Stiles if he hadn't been with Derek, even though they had literally only passed by each other in the woods. 

He cares that it's Stiles. 

Derek sits there and numbly dwells on that until the mist starts to drop, clearing out of the pipe in wisps. When light is breaking over the trees and he sees it creeping in one end of the tube, he concentrates on what he can hear, seeing if there's anything telling in any direction. He knows the rough way they need to go to get back to Beacon Hills. He can pick up the lingering scent of the hunters' truck. There are other cars that have driven past from that direction, too. If they don't go too far from the road, it shouldn't be hard to make it back. 

But the road is where they left the hunters, who are probably still looking for them. There's an alpha loose. 

When Stiles starts waking up not much later, Derek is impressed that he doesn't try to hang on to sleep. The younger man just rolls onto his back and does a stretch that involves his entire body. Derek thinks he hears Stiles' sternum click. He watches Stiles sit up and lean against the pipe, repetitively blinking, scooping up his shoes and actually untying them to put them back on. Derek watches his hands manouver the laces, tug them tight, then Stiles' face is right in his line of vision. 

"I said, 'Derek, any game plans?'" 

Derek jerks back, and frowns, refocusing. "We need to stay close to the road," he says quietly. "I was thinking we should try to cross to the other side of it. More sound is coming from that way. We may find food. And the hunters will be looking for us on this side." 

He gets a thoughtful nod. "Food sounds awesome." 

Subconsciously, Derek reaches out and brushes his palm over Stiles' forehead, noticing the way Stiles initially ducks, but then allows it. 

"You need medicine, too. Your fever broke, but it could come back." 

Stiles gives him an odd look. 

"When did you start caring?" He asks, obviously saying out loud what he's thinking. "I mean out loud, not just in general. You've saved my life, I know you care." Before Derek can respond, though, he smiles and gets to his feet. Offers his hand. 

Which Derek snaps his jaws at. It only makes Stiles laugh, the sound reverberating through the pipe as he ambles his way out. 

They make it to the road without incident, and without any talking between them. They don't cross immediately. Instead, they walk beside it for several hours. Slowly, the forest starts thinning out. By the time the sun is directly above them, they've gone at least nine miles. When Stiles requests a break, the first and only one he's asked for since they started, Derek agrees they need one. 

"I thought you said there was food," Stiles huffs. He settles himself in a pile of leaves and soft grass, rubbing his calves, applying pressure in certain places with his thumbs. 

"We're getting closer," Derek answers. "There's a town ahead."

"Think we'll be safe when we get there?"

Stiles' tone already reveals his doubt, and Derek can only affirm that doubt with a scowl. "If it's the nearest town to where the hunters lost us, they'll have someone there."  
"Then we should go wherever is busiest. Make sure there would be a scene. I could call my dad if someone will let me use their phone." 

Stiles watches Derek give a noncommital tilt of his head. He knows his dad is probably searching everywhere for him. The whole force will be out to find him. He's in for a big hug, and then a long term of isolation and punishment in the form of no Scott and no jeep. At best. 

When he's ready again, legs not feeling so much like they're moving through tar, Stiles gets up and just gives a tug to Derek's arm. Derek wordlessly falls into step next to him. Stiles glances at him in his peripheral vision periodically, and doesn't notice the small smile playing on his own face. 

As the town comes into view, Stiles stops, looking Derek over.

"You can't just walk into a place shirtless with dried blood on you," He points out.

"...You shouldn't go alone."

"Probably not. But that's the way it is. I'll find out what I can and try to get food."

Derek wants to argue, still. But he does realize that if Stiles is alone, then a hunter probably won't try going after him. 

They do their best to conceal the blood on Stiles when they come across a muddy spot, by smearing it on him. Being filthy, at least, is better than looking like he'd been attacked. They agree to say that Stiles was camping and that his tent slid down a riverbank during the rain last night, if anyone asks, and that Stiles is trying to find out where he is so someone can pick him up. It's not the best story to throw around when they're trying to avoid the hunters, who will be listening for news of someone being in the forest, but it's what they have to go with. 

Practically nobody gives Stiles any particular attention when he enters the town through the main street and goes into a bank. He miraculously talks one of the tellers into looking up his account, despite not having his ID or credit card with him, but she won't let him take out any money. 

By talking to her, though, he finds out they're a little closer to Beacon Hills than Derek had originally thought. About an entire day's journey closer, if they keep going on foot. Stiles would like to find another way to get home. They've done at least eleven miles and he knows that a person can walk about three miles an hour. Lydia's voice in his head tells him, "Two, if you're in heels." If they find someone to take them, or even hide in one of the trucks going that direction, they could be there by early, early morning. 

As much as they both need to eat, there's no way they can get food without stealing it, and Stiles doesn't chance it. They're too at risk already. Stiles doesn't ask anyone to borrow a phone, either, deciding that it's better not to leave any clues or signs behind. He's careful to make his way back out of town without raising any questions and meets Derek back in the forest, behind the first few lines of trees. 

Derek visibly relaxes when Stiles tromps up to him. Stiles notices, and he gives a grin that he doesn't completely mean to. It's a nice shock when Derek's mouth makes a small curve in response.

"We're about ninety-two miles from Beacon Hills," he reports. "I couldn't get anything to eat." 

Derek tries to think of a way to get them food, but he can't come up with anything, and they spend some time walking around the edge of the town until Stiles, completely by chance, finds a walnut tree and scales the lowest ring of branches to pull off handfuls and stuff them in his pockets. He drops a few and the first one that hits Derek's shoulder and causes him to glare up at Stiles was an accident. The twenty or so after that are better aimed, and Stiles is just glad he's up a tree, and he's pleased when Derek collects almost every one of the nuts he's dropped. 

"You've got more than you can carry, Stiles," Derek says, when the teen hangs off a branch upside down, then flips to the ground. Years of hanging from Scott's front porch taught him that move. 

"We'll eat some as we go. They're good. You should have already been eating some." 

"Think those will fill you up?" 

"...no, are you kidding?" Stiles says it as he pops a nut into his mouth.

"Well, the only other way we're getting food without stealing it is if I hunt for some."

There are several expressions that cross Stiles' face then and Derek can't pin a single one of them down before there's a new one replacing it. Eventually, he looks like he's just considering the idea, and munches more nuts as he does so. Finally, he says, "As long as I don't watch you kill it."

They're walking again without having decided to, leaving the town behind them, and the forest is expanding once more, spreading out now that there's no more obstruction. They go a bit deeper in, until they can't see the road, but Derek can still hear anything driving through. They share the walnuts, and Stiles starts asking about everything Derek's ever killed, although both of them are conscious of the fact that Peter is not brought up.

"What was the first thing you killed?"

"A raccoon," Derek says, thinking about how Laura's first kill had been a young buck, and how she'd pulled it back to the house by it's antlers, grinning at the family when they came out to see it. She'd been with him for his, and laughed and told him to bring the tail of the raccoon home, and he remembers chasing her back to their house when he'd stubbornly refused and she snatched it from him.

There's another question brimming on Stiles' lips, but he keeps it in by biting on a walnut shell, until Derek gives him an annoyed look. "You can ask and if I don't want to answer, I just won't," he says.

The question is unexpected, when it tumbles right out. "Did your family go on hunts together?"

"We did," Derek says, before he knows he's speaking. Stiles looks interested, but Derek's aware of himself now, and doesn't offer more. He resolutely stays quiet, keeps walking, ignores how Stiles goes quiet too, ignores how Stiles stops his munching. Ignores how he _wants_ to share that, talk about it, but is just unable to without all the anger he's ever felt swelling through him.

"I still have panic attacks," Stiles says suddenly, voice louder than he meant for it to come out, because he flinches.

"About your mom?" Derek's voice is soft, and again, he's spoken before he knew he was going to. He remembers hearing about her death, and thinking back, seeing a much smaller Stiles getting picked up from school in his dad's police cruiser. Always only by his dad.

"When I remember that I won't come home to see her..." Stiles murmurs, voice also soft, but like he's said the words before, so they don't come out hard. 

He has a look on his face that Derek thinks he's seen on his own before, but Stiles slides in the mud on his next step. He throws an arm out and catches Derek's elbow. Derek's hand goes out to steady him. Lands on Stiles' chest. 

The heartbeat there is so firm. So real. Derek never realized he forgot what another person's heart feels like, but he guesses he did. 

"That would have been a full-on faceplant," Stiles puffs out, and smirks at Derek, apparently not even aware that Derek's hand has been on his chest for longer than necessary, is still on his chest until he jerks it away. "Thanks for the catch."

Derek stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "It was reflex." 

"Wolf powers," Stiles sighs, voice sounding long-suffering, but there's a wide grin plastered to his face that Derek thinks suits him. Which makes Derek think about how he's never really been someone to make Stiles smile before this whole disaster. It isn't like he hasn't seen Stiles pretty regularly since he's been an alpha.

And he kind of smiles back and grumbles, "Human clumsiness."

Stiles' laughter fills the gaps between the trees.

The teen starts talking about how he'd felt after Scott had been turned, when Scott's new abilities had started changing things, like lacrosse. And Derek really listens. What once sounded like constant rambling to him, he realizes, is just the venting of a boy who hasn't had the time to vent about his best friend becoming a _werewolf_. Derek could interrupt, jump in and add comments, and after letting Stiles say so much, he does. He doesn't contribute the same amount of words, but he doesn't need to. 

They mostly don't talk about more than surface things. Stiles says a lot about his dad, at one point. And Derek talks about how he hated New York. That's as deep as they get.  
They walk like that for several hours, until the light is settling down. 

Stiles' stomach breaks into his comments on how he's noticed Erica and Boyd getting closer, insinuating it's thanks to Derek that they even found each other without actaully even saying much about it.

The grumble is so loud Derek quirks an eyebrow. 

"Any hunter who heard that would think _I'm_ a werewolf," Stiles jokes, but he lands Derek with a look that says, _'This is serious. We need food.'_

"Let's find somewhere to stay the night," Derek says, starting the search in a ravine. At first there's nothing, then they come upon a bridge that stretches over the water. It's short; the expanse from one side to the other could be leapt by someone agile enough. But it's made from thick beams of wood and the water running through underneath isn't much. There's enough room for the two of them. It looks like nobody has walked across it for years.

Clearly finding it acceptable, Stiles ducks beneath it, shuffling the leaves together in a pile that he drops down into. "I'm going to regret every step I take tomorrow. I bet we did over thirty miles." 

"You should stretch. Rest. I'll find food." 

Except Derek doesn't move for a minute, standing on the edge of the ravine, looking down where he can see Stiles rubbing his ankles. Stiles notices. They share a silent exchange. If something happens with one of them, they'll let the other know. Loudly. 

Even with that, Derek stays in a mile's radius to the bridge. He can smell all sorts of blood and flesh, and within a few hours he's ended the lives of two rabbits. Getting them had been easy and felt good, the way that running and chasing has always felt good to him. It's nearly dark once he's changed form again, heading back, stripping them of their soft pelts on the way. Stiles' eyes round out when Derek comes down the side of the ravine and leans under the bridge, dangling a rabbit out toward him.

"Dude, your mouth." 

Derek actually laughs, bending down to cup some of the water running by, wiping it across his chin, over his mouth, and seeing it come away with clouded red swirls. "How did you expect me to catch something?"

"I don't - I mean, I know Scott killed a rabbit once, but he said he used his claws."

Sitting down in the piles of leaves that Stiles has made bigger and thicker while he's been gone, Derek again holds out one of the rabbits to him. "It's a preference thing. Subconscious, usually. Here." 

Stiles actually takes it, but he turns it around in his hands, digging his fingers into the meat a little. 

"Pull the meat off in chunks. You'll avoid eating any organs, if you don't want them. It'll mostly taste like blood," Derek murmurs to him, picking apart his rabbit gradually. It's been ages since he's eaten anything this way. Not since the fire and he and Laura left Beacon Hills with no idea where to go at first.

Stiles watches while Derek eats, and he brings himself to rip a piece off his rabbit, stuffing it into his mouth before he can think about it, process what it is. It does taste coppery, and it's easy to chew. It's not bad. He just has to ignore how it's still slightly warm from having been alive not long before. Otherwise, once he keeps going, he eats enough to ease how his stomach feels like it's destroying itself, even down to the bone in some areas. He finishes off with a few walnuts, passing a few to Derek, too.

They both lie back when they're done. The forest is gentle, almost silent, if not for the occasional breeze shuffling leaves around. It could conceal anything, and they both know the hunters wouldn't have given up yet. 

The space under the bridge is enough, but they have to be lying shoulder to shoulder. Stiles' hand just settles on top of Derek's, because there's nowhere else for it. He falls asleep first, and Derek concentrates on the way his heart has sped up and why, but eventually makes it into unconsciousness. 

When Stiles wakes up, Derek is gone, but he's left an obvious trail in the direction he went. As though he's saying, _don't worry, I'm not far_ , through kicked up dirt and even a short trail of the bones from the rabbits.

He gets up to try to get himself ready to move on. Trying to erase any trace that they'd been there, he shoves about his pile of leaves, dispensing them in what would look like a natural scattering. The air is cool, no sunlight yet, so he zips up his hoodie, pushing the sleeves up and peeking under the wraps of Derek's shirt still around his wrists and palms. The cuts look puffy.

Light falls on him. Direct, piercing light, and Stiles looks straight into it, blinking. It's a quick move, when he yanks his sleeves back down. 

The light's lowered, and a policeman steps toward him slowly, flashlight sweeping around the area now rather than spotlighting Stiles. "Is there a reason you're out here, kid?"

"I- uh - not a bad one," Stiles says, which doesn't make the policeman look too impressed. "I mean, yes. Yes, sir, I'm out here with a friend." 

"A friend?" The policeman's flashlight does a circle around where they're standing, as he takes a few final steps before he's standing right in front of Stiles, and then the light goes from Stiles' shoes, slowly, up to his face. "Doing what?"

"Uh, we've-" Stiles holds a hand over his eyes and the police officer lowers the flashlight with a slightly apologetic look, but his face also clearly is prompting Stiles to continue. "We've been trying to fix up this bridge, just for a personal project. You know, one of those, 'better the world,' sort of things."

"At seven in the morning?" 

"There was that rainstorm the other night, so we came to make sure it wasn't more damaged than before. So we could bring back all the right tools we'd need. My friend went back to his truck to get measuring tape."

The policeman considers Stiles for a few seconds, then looks over at the bridge. "I see. Good of you boys to be doing something like this. But, you know, probably no one uses that bridge anymore, since there's nothing in these woods beyond this point." 

"Oh," Stiles shrugs. "Well, now if people use it, then it isn't in danger of collapsing." 

The policeman looks like he's about to smile, but then, instead, he clears his throat, scratching at his chin. "It technically isn't legal for the two of you to be doing this without a permit," he says. "It'd be my job on the line if I let you, so I'll have to ask you to leave." Then, as if he's just noticed, he stares at Stiles. "You're pretty muddy, there."

And before Stiles can say anything in response to that, the flashlight is back in his face. 

"How old are you, kid?"

Again, before Stiles is able to speak, there's a low growl from the thicker side of the forest. 

The officer jolts, and has the good sense to turn his flashlight off. When he reaches to grab his gun, looking over his shoulder, that's when Stiles breaks into a run back toward the bridge, past it, and keeps going, ignoring the frantic shouts behind him of, "Come back! Kid! Come back, there's something out there!"

Stiles knows what's out there, and he doesn't stop running until it catches up with him. He smashes into Derek, who's braced enough that they don't spill to the ground. Derek's hands grip Stiles' by the shoulders, then one hand slides down to Stiles' elbow, and with a tug, they're running away from the blue and red lights that start to follow them, glowing through the trees. 

"I left you for fifteen minutes, Stiles," Derek clips.

"Shouldn't have left me then," Stiles gasps, jumping over a large, gnarled tree branch. Derek's hand falls from his elbow, but Stiles grabs his wrist, tugs him to a stop. "I can't breathe anymore. He has to stay on the road, and we shouldn't get too far from it."

Derek shoves Stiles back, and when Stiles steadies himself against a tree, Derek is right up against him, wholely glaring for a moment while Stiles arches away from the rough bark. "Why did you run?"

"Derek, what-"

"You would have been safe if he'd taken you with him," Derek growls, and Stiles doesn't think he's ever seen eyes that fierce, when he looks into them incredulously. It might have to do with them being a claret color. 

"If he'd taken me in, you'd have been left out here," Stiles tells him, loudly, knowing it sounds as empty as it is. He wants to believe he could help Derek, if Derek needed him. And he's sure he could; he's helped Derek before. But so far, this time, he has only been a hindrance and he really realizes that when he mumbles out, "Alone with the hunters." 

He's never seen Derek look so confused. There's not time to wonder about it.

Derek is inches from him.

Stiles stills entirely, except instead of leaning back, away from Derek, he does the opposite. It doesn't seem possible for them to get closer, but he's not even touching Derek, and he knows he could be. He knows that if either of them just tipped forward... if either of them did, God, he'd be kissing Derek. All he can focus on is Derek's mouth, how he can feel the slight exhale of Derek's breath, thinks maybe Derek's stubble brushes his chin.

Then he's focusing on the loss of those things, and his mouth dropping open, and he's watching Derek stalk away. 

"Derek?" 

He calls out. And then he shouts it, but Derk keeps walking. 

Stiles chases him. 

Derek's already throwing an arm out to stop him, to hold him away, but Stiles ducks under it. He turns so fast once he's in front of Derek that his feet slide in the dirt. He crashes forward into Derek, finding his mouth for real. His fingers are lacing together through Derek's hair, not letting the werewolf pull back. Stiles kisses Derek hard, and long, and Derek's hands only just start to rise from where he had them pressing back on Stiles' chest, starting to cup Stiles' face, when Stiles is the one to break away. 

A foot of space is put between them as Stiles takes a step back, pushing off of Derek's shoulders. His eyes are bright, but sharp. 

"Scott's been right every time he's called you a jerk." 

Derek doesn't say anything. He doesn't meet Stiles' eyes, but stares at the ground somewhere around Stiles' feet. And his expression. It has so much conflict going on behind it. Stiles waits for Derek to look at him, but it doesn't happen, and Derek just looks increasingly confused, wary, and like he's right on the edge of something.

His gaze only snaps up when Stiles moves closer. When Stiles is just close enough that Derek wouldn't have to really lean forward to kiss him again. But neither of them try that.  
Derek takes a slow breath. 

"Why were you in the woods? In Beacon Hills, when we were captured. You shouldn't have been, so why?"

"Why are you asking that _now?_ That's not really-"

"Stiles." Derek's tone is soft, but unavoidable. "Why?"

"Because you always run out there. And I wanted to run into you." The way Stiles says it, it's like he isn't sure until then. His arms are out to his sides, hands up and shoulders hunched a bit in a shurg until he just drops them and looks at Derek. "I'm pack, or that's at least what everyone has been telling me, and I want to be close with all of my pack."

Derek's brows furrow. "I lost my pack."

Stiles pushes his hand just under Derek's chest, fingers dipping into his bare skin, forcing the alpha to look at him. "You lost your family. And we aren't a replacement, but we are your pack. We're new family." He pulls back a little. "If you're too afraid you're going to lose us, you're never going to have us, Derek."

It's clear that Derek doesn't have any way to respond. He's just quiet, and breathes slowly, eyes closed. Stiles waits until they open again, and purses his lips a little. Derek kisses them, and they rise into a smile before his mouth gets completely occupied.

"Whoa, damn, you're a great kisser," Stiles breathes against Derek's mouth, chin and the dip between it and his lower lip brushing against scruff. "Who knew." 

"Shut up," Derek rumbles out, the corner of his mouth brushing Stiles'. "I can't kiss you when you're talking." 

Right before their lips seal together again, Stiles laughs out, "This is the only time you ever get to use that sentence and have it actually work."

They make out for so long that Stiles starts to think he's been transferred some wolf power that allows him not to breathe, but then, no, he has to break away and find some air. During which, Derek's hands find their way beneath his hoodie and his tee, and Stiles didn't know that someone's hands just touching his stomach could feel as completely wonderful as it does. 

They don't start kissing again, just look at each other. 

"Have you had secret feelings for me before this?" Stiles asks with a smirk, and before Derek can look too annoyed, he adds, "Because that's seriously awesome, and it's not like I haven't... well, it started out with you just being impossibly attractive, and then you needed my help those times, and I started to actually want to help you, and a lot has happened since you became alpha, which includes me not being able to keep myself from wondering about you every day. Which, I guess, was why I was in the woods." 

It's not the first time Derek has smiled in front of him, but it's the happiest, and Stiles would bet Derek doesn't even know he's doing it.

"Every day, huh?" 

Stiles puts his hands on Derek's forearms, looks down at where his clothes are pushed up his torso, and shivers. "You could say that when I talked Scott and Jackson into training with you and the others, it wasn't all for their benefit." 

Derek hasn't thought about why Scott and Jackson turned up one evening together, coming into the train yard silently, both looking like they were being punished. He'd just gone with it, because maybe, he'd thought, he could start doing something right with them both. He'd just welcomed the seemingly willing additions to his new pack.

And when Stiles showed up with them the second time, and then every time after that, well. He noticed, but didn't _notice_ until he'd seen the hunters dragging a limp Stiles through the leaves two nights ago.

Derek's hands slide around to fit against Stiles' lower back, but Stiles arches away from the touch, eyes widening in pain, and he gasps. 

"Uh, the tree scraped me..."

Derek's hands come back to Stiles' stomach. "I'm sorry for shoving you. And for yelling at you." 

"Ok...You were right, I would have been safer. Doesn't matter, though. That officer will put in a report about us," Stiles says, and his eyes look a little sad and a little hopeful. "It should get back to my dad."

When Derek doesn't let the pause settle, says, "Let's start walking. We should get there tomorrow if we get far enough before it's night again," it's exactly what Stiles needs to hear, and they brush through the trees together, not much space between them, following one another when it's too narrow, rather than spreading out. 

Stiles' hands occasionally reach out and brush wherever they land on Derek. Derek pauses often to glance over at Stiles, smiling softly when their eyes meet, and broadening the one time Stiles walks into a spikey bush because he's distracted by that look on the alpha.

But Stiles is slower than he was the day before, and soon, Derek starts to smell it on him. His fever is returning, but along with that, there's something sour, stale, thick.

"Stiles." 

The teen stops shoulder to shoulder with Derek. He's shivering with chills. But he appears to know, and takes Derek's hand, giving it a tug. "I don't want to stop. There's nothing we can do but keep going." 

Derek knows he's right, nods, but he's attentive, and he listens hard for any sign of something he can hunt. They go a few miles and there's isn't anything. Just a stream that they drink from, and then decide to follow for as long as they can, since it's flowing the same direction they're headed.

The sleeves of Stiles' hoodie are tugged over his hands, and he keeps rubbing at his wrists until Derek takes both hands, walking behind him a little awkwardly, but effectively keeping him from scratching the wounds. "They're itching because they're healing."

"They're stinging, not itching," Stiles snips, but he turns to Derek and kisses him briefly. 

Stiles tries to keep walking, but Derek stops. And because he's holding on to Stiles, it jerks the teen back a little and he turns to Derek expectantly. Then he gasps, feeling how his wrists and palms start to go numb, the stings dulling until he doesn't feel much at all. The black that crawls up Derek's veins makes him suck in a breath. 

Derek starts to let go of his wrists when he's taken away as much of the pain as he can, but he gets Stiles pressed against him, catching his lips. 

Every half mile or so, Derek gets a kiss like that, and it makes the time they travel seem to speed by. They don't pass anything on this side of the forest, and the road turned away a short time ago, but Derek is sure they're still going the right direction. The trees have started to become more widespread, the grass gets taller, and they end up in a clearing when it's too dark to keep going. 

Stiles visibly doesn't feel alright, despite Derek taking some of his pain, but he's cheerful about the ground being soft when they settle down into the open space, and he grins at how Derek is overly wary. It's not sheltered, and there's nothing concealing them. But it's comfortable and he doesn't make them move, he just lies down and keeps a hand on Stiles' thigh.

Stiles rolls and fits himself against Derek's side, nose by Derek's ear. His breath whispers along the werewolf's cheek and neck, and when he swallows, it's loud. 

"I'm sorry that my mom will never get to meet you." 

Derek turns his head a little, toward Stiles, closing his eyes. "You can tell me all about her, when you want to." 

He thinks Stiles is pleased by that, judging by the small wiggle of the teen's hips as he shifts closer, and there's quiet between them, so he thinks that's it. But then Stiles reaches his arm out, hand resting right between Derek's lungs. He gives a thoughtful, low hum.

"As long as, when you're ready, I get to hear more about your family." 

"Thought you said I had a new family," Derek says, quiet, and Stiles' thumb brushes over his skin. 

"You do." His voice is low, but his smile is entirely detectable. "But I bet Laura was fucking awesome and made of everything badass." 

Derek knows Laura would laugh at that, so he does it for her. 

They fall asleep content in the fact that they can share those things, but they don't have to just yet.

They wake up to sirens. Stiles sits up and stares around them, but Derek is on his feet, tracking the noises. They aren't distinctive enough for him to know whether or not they're ambulances or police cruisers, but there are many, and he thinks probably both. They're going the way Derek and Stiles have been leaving. 

"We should get moving." Derek's voice is deep, tinted with caution. He turns to Stiles, body anxious to tug the younger man up and take off, but he lets Stiles slowly stand up, can tell that it makes Stiles a little light-headed, which isn't good. But Stiles was right, last night. The only way to help him is to get him home. 

"That many vehicles means something serious," Stiles says, obviously warring away the urge to investigate. "A big accident, maybe." 

"We can find out later, when we're nowhere nearby. Come on, Stiles."

It's a bit warmer than the days before, but Stiles keeps his hoodie on, still suffering from chills. The forest remains thin, mostly a smattering of trees, so the new day's sun gleams down at them sometimes, though more and more clouds pass under it as they go on. 

After about ten minutes, it starts to rain. 

Stiles seems to enjoy it. He blinks when drops land on his forehead and cheeks, but doesn't wipe them away, instead letting them roll down his skin and plaster his short hair against his skull. Derek is too busy watching him, is caught off guard when Stiles turns and kicks water into his face. 

He hasn't chased anyone since his family died, just for fun, as a game.

The way he doesn't think about it, takes off after Stiles, it feels like he's healed, in some small ways, and it feels good. It feels good, and he wants to keep it. He wants to keep Stiles, his new pack, these teenagers that happened to him before he was ready. He wants to be ready, thinks he almost is. 

"You're going to regret that, Stiles!" He yells ahead.

"Huff puff!" Stiles shouts back, going down a slope out of sight.

Derek darts down the rise after him. But Stiles isn't running ahead of him, and the slosh of his steps has stopped. 

There are two racing heartbeats behind Derek. He knows one is Stiles, and he knows the other means to hurt Stiles. 

"Wolfsbane bullets don't affect humans," a sneering voice rings out, and Derek sees Stiles standing frozen several yards away, and sees where the ground has been blasted up at his feet from a gunshot. "At least not unlike any other bullet."

The hunter jumps down from a branch right above Stiles, landing in front of him with a stagger, and Stiles doesn't even flinch, just straightens, tenses. The gun in the man's hand has a suppressor.

His scent is vaguely familiar, definitely one of the men who had captured them, but it's hidden under another smell. He's wounded. There's a sopping, black-red stain not just through the shirt he's wearing, but his coat, too. His eyes say he escaped something, but not really. Not really, because...

He's been bitten.

Derek gives a growl, teeth enlongated, claws on the ends of his fingers, eyes as red as the hunter's blood. He can see Stiles sway, as the gun is lifted. Sees the look on the hunter's face, daring Derek to try killing him. Underneath that, begging Derek to try. 

"You're going to become a werewolf whether you kill us or not," Derek growls sharply. A flit of panic rushes in the man's eyes, the sort of panic caused from realizing he can't survive the way he wants to. Human.

"I'm going to become a monster!" 

He steps closer to Stiles, so close that he could push the muzzle of the gun into the teen's chest. But he's glaring at Derek, eyes filled with tears.

It's quick. Stiles shoves the hunter's arm up, changing the aim, and when it goes off, the hunter goes down. 

Stiles' mouth is open, breaths coming in long, heavy intakes, hands now at his temples, fingers digging into his hair. He turns his head quickly to Derek, like he thinks Derek might not be there anymore. 

But Derek is, and Stiles swallows and just walks over to him. He doesn't put his arms around Derek, simply leans into him. He's sixteen, and he just killed someone. 

It keeps raining while Derek lifts Stiles head, searching his eyes thoroughly. Making sure Stiles is going to be able to live with himself, before leading Stiles away from the body that could have been either of their own. 

It keeps raining, and Stiles just starts talking. 

"I'm going to make sure someone finds him. Leave a clue for my dad, somehow, when we're back home."

"Ok." 

"He probably had a family, so, they should know." 

"Sure, Stiles."

"...I could have shoved the gun down, not up."

"Stiles..."

Stiles sighs. "... I know. He would have kept hunting us. Or the bullet would have slowly killed him, because he was turning. And I didn't pull the trigger, I just pushed the gun away. I know." His voice is a murmur. "Still. If I hadn't-"

"He'd have shot you."

They face each other, and Stiles still looks upset at himself, none of his brightness on his face. Derek steps right up to him, grabs the back of his neck, and pulls him in to kiss him. A kiss that says, _we could have never done this again._

Stiles breathes out against his mouth, "I know," and kisses him harder. Their lips fight to be on top of each other's, tongues pushing and luring and sliding, pressure bruising. Stiles draws a not-quite growl, not-quite hum out of Derek. A soothed sound. 

When the kiss breaks, Stiles presses his cheek against Derek's, rubbing a bit against the wet stubble, and staring over his shoulder through the damp forest, and giving in to his smile. He feels Derek's chest rise against his own, feels how Derek involuntarily presses gently into him, presses his cheek more against Stiles', even though it squishes both of their faces a little bit. 

Stiles' hands come to rest on Derek's hip bones, briefly, moving up a little, then around a little, then his arms just rise and he hugs Derek right around his middle, tight. Derek makes a short, soft noise.

He hugs Stiles back so fast, Stiles grunts, and chuckles into Derek's ear. 

No one has hugged Derek since before Laura died. If he keeps Stiles there like that for several minutes, well, Stiles doesn't want to be let go anyway. Derek only does let him go because he's sure he can hear the voices of his family echoing through the trees with both genuine and teasing cheers.

They're soaken wet, hungry, have a long way to walk, and Stiles' fever is still peaking, but they share smiles as they get farther away from their captors, whether they're dead or still after them.

Their guards are up, and they don't break away from each others' line of vision again, but the only obstacle they face is a river that doesn't seem to bend or narrow in either direction, when they check. They're already wet, so swimming it is how they decide to cross it. On the other side, they take off their squelching shoes, continuing barefoot on the springy grass and puddled mud, letting the earth stain their soles and toes. Stiles tries to encourage Derek to change to his alpha form so that his footprints will have claws, and remarks how it's unfortunate that Derek doesn't yet have the ability to fully become a wolf, like Laura could.

"Seriously, you could change to a wolf, then back to a human, and if anyone found our tracks, they'd think they had proof-"

"That werewolves exist?" Derek asks with eyebrows raised.

"It's legitimate when you don't actually _know_ werewolves are real," Stiles counters, but he's laughing through his words. 

Derek laughs with him, pretty sure that it's something Laura would have come up with herself, and probably did, at some point. And he's ok thinking about her. The clench inside of him isn't as violent and demanding. There's a sort of calm encroaching in on his memories of her.

The rest of his family is still surrounded by fire that he can't touch. One day, he might. He will.

For right now, he needs to focus on his new pack. His new family, there to build new memories with, and to care about. 

Stiles starts looking around, studying their surroundings, but doesn't say anything until they pass a yellow house tucked away in the trees. "I think I recognize this. It's near where I brought Scott to get drunk that one time."

A snort escapes Derek. He takes a look around, and Stiles is right. They're on the outskirts of Beacon Hills. It'll be another hour's walk before they'll be in the town itself. He can already feel a shift, vaguely able to pinpoint his betas. They won't be able to sense him yet, but he's not going to howl. They'll show up when they know he's there. 

"Are we going to the train yard first?" Stiles asks, already headed down the hill toward one of the main roads into Beacon Hills, clumsily shoving his shoes back on as he goes. 

Derek trails him, wary of any cars passing, stopping by a road sign to shove his feet back into his boots. It's more than likely they've been reported missing, it's definite, and he doesn't want to be sighted by anyone but his pack, or the sheriff himself. "You need medicine. That's first."

"That can come later." 

His voice is serious, tainted with eagerness. Stiles doesn't like people worrying about him, and he just wants to see everyone, let them know he and Derek are alright. He wants to be surrounded by them, for a while, then go find his dad. Other things can wait.

The train yard is closest, anyway. Their pace quickens until it comes into view. Jackson's silver porche is visible, parked between two freight carts. 

Isaac is first to race out the open door, Scott just behind, but they seem to realize that Stiles and Derek are still at least two miles away up the hill, and they wait. Jackson takes his time joining them, but he's looking up, watching their progress as they get closer. He even lifts a hand in a short wave as Stiles pinwheels his arms at them, using more energy than Derek's sure he should be. But there's no chance of slowing Stiles down.

He practically merges into Scott. Stiles is just hugging, but Scott is sniffing and Derek is able to watch all the conflicting expressions that pass over his face. The happiness to just see Stiles, the worry over how sick Stiles is, the relief that it's not worse, and the stress he's felt the past several days, slipping away. 

Isaac hangs back but obviously wants to greet both Stiles and his alpha with the same enthusiasm, and his eyes fill up with surprise when Derek opens an arm to him. Their embrace is brief, but Isaac pretty much beams when his hair gets tussled. 

"So what happened?" 

Jackson's voice is blase on the surface, his arms are crossed, but his eyebrows are scrunched together in that special way that is the only way most people can really tell he's concerned. 

Stiles looks past Isaac's bicep, now that he's moved on to hugging him, at Jackson. Scott's gone to stand next to Derek, who doesn't do anything for a second, then shoves his arm in greeting. At first, Scott looks irritated, but blinks when he catches the amused upward turn of Derek's mouth, Derek pointedly not looking at him. And he tentatively, then more firmly shoves back. 

"Can we wait until later for the storytelling?" Stiles asks, unable to quit smiling. "I don't want to have to keep explaining it, as awesome as parts of it were. And if Derek tells it, it'll go something like, 'We escaped and walked home.' Which I can't allow."

Jackson nods, and then he grins slowly, casting significant looks at both Scott and Isaac that he doesn't explain and which the latter two don't look too impressed by. 

"Erica's on her way, with Boyd. I texted her," Isaac supplies. "She's not happy she wasn't here..." 

"I texted Allison, too," Scott adds, for once not looking like the most important thing in the world is that he'll get to see her face. Stiles' face is the most important right now, because it's been missing for days. And it's visible, how pleased that makes Stiles. Even as Scott keeps pressing a hand to his forehead, looking miserable that Stiles is running a fever, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Do we have painkillers and fever reducers inside?" Derek asks Isaac, who snuffs. 

"Why would we need them?"

It's a fair argument, but Derek makes a note to start keeping medicines around. His pack has humans in it, important ones. 

"Scott, can you ask Allison to bring some medicine with her for Stiles?" 

Scott already has his phone out, typing in the message while he gives Derek a long, considering look. Derek knows there's still some level of mistrust between them, which isn't so much based on the fact that they've done each other wrong, for a while, but more on the fact that they keep making decisions the other disagrees with. 

There's so much to work on, but Derek needs to start feeling capable of doing it all, and there's no way he can do that if he doesn't try.

He nods to Scott, and even gives an approving sort of look to Jackson as he walks past, leading them inside. Where, apparently, they've all been camping out, judging by the array of sleeping bags spread around. Derek blinks, for a short moment just silent, and Isaac says softly, "We figured this might be the first place you'd come to."

"Like a mother wolf coming home to the pups in her den," Stiles supplies, settling right down onto a black sleeping bag that Jackson protests about, because he's getitng it damp.  
Derek scowls and snorts at Stiles, who snickers. Then he casts a disapproving look at Isaac, who'd tilted his head in consideration to the idea.

"Is there food?"

"Oh, yes, please say yes," Stiles says, perking up.

"There have been up to six teenagers staying in this shithole," Jackson says impassively, "None of the food lasts."

"I'll see if Allison can bring some things...?" Scott intended to make it a statement, but it didn't come out that way and he's looking to Derek both expectantly and in confusion at himself.

Stiles is the one to reply. "No, dude, call for pizza."

"Pizza?" Isaac asks, looking unfairly excited over the prospect, going over to talk through the order with Stiles and Scott when Derek lightly nudges him that direction. He stands there in the train warehouse listening to them decide on hawaiian style, and then listening to them bicker when Jackson says pineapple doesn't belong on pizza. 

He's struck with the realization that these teenagers behave so much like his family used to. Some kind of ease settles over him.

There's the slam of a car door outside.

"I can't believe you came back when I wasn't here!"

Erica rushes in, Boyd following more slowly. Her hair is a little frizzy because of the rain and when Derek looks at her over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, she almost looks like the girl she was before he gave her the bite. But a happier, fuller version, who leaps onto him. She just hangs off of him for a few seconds, and looks up at him with her dangerous round eyes, smiling. But not her usual smug smile. One that says, _'It's good to see you. More than good.'_

Then she's off to Stiles, saying something about Batman returning to Gotham that his face splits into a grin over. And then she snaps at Scott as he's on the phone ordering food, "Chicken on pizza is disgusting," and tries to pry his phone away from him.

Boyd greets Derek by handing over the leather jacket that Derek is glad he hadn't been wearing four days ago - or was it five? He feels like he and Stiles were out in the forest together for months. He glances over at Stiles, smiling a little. 

"Thanks," he tells Boyd, who gives a smile and a slow blink. 

"Erica carried it around." 

Derek doesn't know what to say to that. He feels himself frowning in disbelief, looking down at the jacket in his hands, but it does smell like Erica, a little, through it's natural scent. 

"Especially on the full moon," Boyd adds, and Derek's eyes flick up to his.

"Were all of you alright?"

"We managed. All of us were here that night." There's a lag, and Boyd gets motioned over by Erica. As he starts to go over, he walks backwards to say, "It was hard, controlling it, without you here." 

Derek wonders when they started trusting him enough to need him.

And when he started being willing to trust them himself.

It's been half a year since he'd turned them all. Four months since Scott and Jackson were added to their training sessions, Stiles coming along with nobody questioning his presence. He's not sure how long they've all been controlled enough to keep themselves from changing, but it's been a while. There's almost never been a day when one of them, if not all of them, doesn't come into the train warehouse just to be there. Derek found out a few weeks ago that Isaac has been showing Jackson how to take the pain away from hurt people and animals, when he saw them both crouched over a bird that had fallen from it's nest. Erica and Boyd have gotten closer, like Stiles was saying in the forest. And it's been a day since he kissed Stiles for the first time.

They've been building themselves into a pack from the start. Stiles was right. Derek was too afraid to have this, because he'd had this before.  
But it's become all he wants, again.

All of these teenagers that just happened to him.

Even Allison, who steps inside with a few bags in her hands. He feels a jolt every time he see her, but he knows she won't just go away. She's greeted by everyone, and when she smiles over to Derek hesitantly, he at least tries to smile in return and goes over to the group. Stiles gives him a thoroughly disappointed look when he sides with Jackson and Erica and they end up ordering three different types of pizza to please everyone.

Scott picks it up at the corner up the street. It's conspicuous, but not as conspicuous as having the food delivered to the train yard. Derek makes Stiles take the medicine that Allison brought, and he's settled close to Stiles, anxious for the signs that it's started working. Everyone else clamours around Scott while he tries to put the wet pizza boxes on the only table in the room. 

"Ok, what is with you, Jackson?" Stiles says suddenly, and Derek looks up in time to catch sight of the blonde nudging Scott and Isaac, and Erica at his side, grinning just like a wolf. 

Scott looks embarrassed even before Jackson turns around and declares, "We had a bet a long time ago that you and Derek would hook up."

"It was a month ago. Not that long," Isaac supplies, like that makes it seem less dastardly. 

Derek and Stiles subconsciously shift. They end up pressed against each other. Stiles is trying to look indignant, but his mouth falls open when Derek directly asks, "What did you bet for?"

Scott cuts in, looking between them with wide eyes. "No way! Stiles, you never said anything."

"Man, what would you have said if I told you I had a thing for your alpha?"

Scott's nose wrinkles a little in answer, at first. But then, after looking between them a little more, he slowly grins, just shrugging. 

"Scott bet that it would never happen, for the record," Allison says, purely teasing, as she comes over with a plate for Stiles that has a slice from each pizza on it. She sits down next to Stiles, motioning for Derek to go get some of the food, looking privately amused, like she knows he's reluctant to leave Stiles' side. For himself as much as to see what will happen, Derek gives Stiles' neck a gentle squeeze as he stands up. 

Jackson holds out a hand. Both Isaac and Scott sullenly put a twenty dollar bill into it, one of which Erica snatches. Isaac murmurs to Scott, "I'm glad we talked him down from a fifty each." 

Stiles laughs, the sound ringing around the room, through the train carts. He's just all smiles, eased, and looks like he never wants to be anywhere else, when everyone sits down in a kind of pile, dragging over sleeping bags and so close to each other that one person doesn't end without touching another in some way. Derek finds himself beside Stiles, and ends up pressed right against him, side to side, because Erica leans heavily on his other shoulder. Then Isaac forces her to make a gap and Derek somehow has both of them fastened to him. He just eats his pizza. 

"I want to know what happened," Jackson prompts, leaned back against a wall and for the most part looking like he's set apart from the rest of them, only the toe of his shoe is touching Allison's boot. 

They all grow kind of still, alert, and intense. 

But Stiles, though he badly wants to let them know everything, has something else on his mind that he won't be able to stop thinking about until it happens. "I promise I'll tell you guys everything," he says, around a mouthful of cheese and sausage, finishing his last slice. "But I want to go find my dad."

"Oh!" Scott practically yips and sits straight up, jostling Allison, who's been leaning back against his chest. "I was with him this morning. He said he was asked to go to another town to help investigate some murders in the forest, but told them he wouldn't go until tonight. He's been... waiting for you to come home."

Stiles looks both interested and anxious, getting to his feet. "Thanks, Scott." He looks around at everyone, who all seem calm and easy, knowing their pack is all back together, safe, mostly unharmed. He looks down at Derek. "Come on."

A raised eyebrow is the momentary reply he gets, but Derek stands up even as he asks, "Are you sure I should come?"

"You've been reported missing, too," Erica says, looking up to her alpha. 

"Let me guess," Derek starts, and judges by the shift everyone makes that he's going to be correct,"I was suspected of being a kidnapper." 

"The first day," Scott mumbles. "But then we laid some fake evidence by where we found Stiles' jeep before the police did. Just a sleeve ripped off of one of your shirts, Derek." He starts to look apologetic. 

Derek gives a nod. "That was clever." 

Scott sort of squirms in light of the praise.

"Where's the rest of the shirt?" Stiles asks. "He should wear it, to solidify the evidence."

Jackson wanders off into one of the train carts and comes back as everyone is shuffling towards the doors, handing the shirt over to Derek, who pulls it on without comment. 

"We should all stay together tomorrow," Isaac throws out, before anyone can leave. It sounds a little like a suggestion, tentative. This is where he and Derek live, now, mostly. It was supposed to be temporary, and Derek knows it's not fair for Isaac not to have a home. 

They can change that. "Meet at my family's house," he says. The rest of them nod or smile in approval to the plan.

He and Stiles leave, though Stiles has his phone out and is texting a few of them. Derek's comes up with a message, too.

 **From Erica** : _Hoooooooooowl. Alpha's home._

He sends something quick back. 

**To Erica:** _Home, but might not be back tonight. Stay with Isaac._

 **From Erica:** _We're having a puppy pile. You're missing out. Or maybe not? ;)_

Stiles nudges him as he's smirking down at the screen, and he puts it away in his pocket, looking over into gentle brown eyes. Then he notices Stiles is holding out his hand, and Derek's smirk turns to something softer. He takes hold.

They skirt around the neighborhoods through mostly side-streets and dirt tracks until they're cutting through some backyards, and they end up behind Stiles' house, with a view into the windows of the long kitchen and the hallway. It'd probably be better to use the front door, but Stiles just goes right for what's nearest. It's open, and they step in, being a little bit quiet. Stiles looks back to Derek long enough to see that he's closed the door, and then he's walking quickly down the hall toward the living area.

Derek lingers, listening to the voice of the sheriff on the phone with presumably another officer. He's asking about the report that was put in on a boy in the forest. He sounds like a man who's on his last trail of hope, but then his voice cuts off and Derek doesn't have to use his acute hearing to know the phone drops to the floor.

He comes into the room in time to see Stiles' dad rise from where he's sitting at their table. The sheriff notices him, makes eye contact, briefly. But then he's staring at Stiles, who seems frozen, and then he's pulling his son into his arms.

Their embrace doesn't end even when Stiles starts talking. "I'm just running a fever and have a few cuts. Maybe blood poisoning. We just got taken, I don't know why, Dad, but Derek and I escaped and walked back." His voice is smothered a little by his dad's shoulder, but the sheriff is listening, trying to understand. "It was a 'wrong place, wrong time' thing. And Derek is going to stay here, at least for tonight," he adds.

Derek stiffens. The sheriff looks over to him, slackening his hold on Stiles a little, but then he nods, just starts nodding, and pulls Stiles in again.

"I just got a call," he says, and finally lets go. "An officer saw you in the woods. Stiles, why didn't you go with him?"

"We'd gotten separated," Stiles says softly. Derek can hear in his tone that he doesn't want to lie like this, but more than that, he doesn't want his dad to be worried.

Mr. Stilinski takes a deep breath. He puts a hand to Stiles' forehead, frown deepening, and turns him to the kitchen. "Get some aspirin, bring me the bandages..." he says, and looks to Derek, eyebrows raising at the state of the shirt Derek's in. "Were you hurt?"

Derek feels bad when he has to shake his head. But the sheriff just looks relieved. He nods, slowly, and looks like he's about to sink back down into the chair he was initially in, but halfway through, straightens back up. He tilts his head down, but looks straight at Derek. "It was a random kidnapping?"

Derek silently nods, knowing the underlying question there. The unstated, _"It wasn't something you caused?"_ And he hopes that if the sheriff ever finds out the truth about everything, he'll understand the lies that went along with it all and how hard Stiles has worked to keep him safe.

Stiles comes back with what seems to be a plastic tub that is stuffed with an organized array of medical items. He also has two water bottles, and gives one to Derek in passing. He lets his dad put a hand on his head, and Derek watches how soothed it makes Stiles, as he rummages a bit, pulling out bottles and bandages and antibacterial cream. 

"I know there's a bad cut above my eye," Stiles says, turning to look at his dad before he swallows half his water bottle. 

"And your wrists..." Derek says, then clips his mouth shut when the sheriff quickly looks to him, then back to Stiles, and Stiles glances over his shoulder at Derek with an expression that's lightly prickly. His eyes go soft, though, because Derek's just standing there, face clearly showing he can't stand Stiles being hurt anymore.

Mr. Stilinski motions a hand at Derek. "Come sit down." 

The three of them settle at the table, and Stiles makes no complaints when both his father and Derek work together to clean up his cuts, covering them up with bandages. He sips the rest of his water, takes three painkillers that also serve as fever reducers, and gradually leans more and more against Derek's side. 

His dad's eyes scrunch up, something new and fond there. "Thank goodness you're both back..."

Stiles just smiles. He tells his dad he's hungry, to which Derek has to hold back a snort, because he knows better than to let the sheriff know they'd been in Beacon Hills a few hours already before coming here. The sheriff responds with, "You know where the kitchen is," and Derek does laugh at that.

"I have to make some calls," Mr. Stilinski says, and leans down to pick up the telephone from under the table. Derek takes that as a sort of dismissal and invitation to do whatever he likes, so he roams into the kitchen after Stiles and watches him make a sandwich, shaking his head when Stiles offers him one. He can hear the phone conversation in the other room, the sheriff explaining that Stiles just got home, and Derek, too. Calling off the search for them with a tone that's equally weary and happy.

After a minute, he comes into the kitchen to join them, tugging on his police force coat. Stiles watches silently, mouth full of turkey on wheat. Both Stilinski men look at each other, eyes saying, _"I just got you back,"_ but that's just the surface of it, and Derek glances down at his boots. 

"I'm needed at a murder scene," the sheriff says gently. 

"Murder?" Stiles asks, perking up with interest like it's news to him.

"Probably tied to your kidnapping..."

Stiles pauses, shifting where he's leaned back against a counter. "Yeah, we found a body."

Derek knows Stiles is talking about the hunter that almost shot him. He frowns, but somewhere, he feels a warm tug in his chest that he knows is equated with his feelings for Stiles. Because, for some reason, Stiles making sure the guy is found... Derek doesn't understand it entirely, but it makes him want to hug Stiles.

The sheriff's mouth drops open and he tilts his head, like he's about to ask a lot of questions, but then he pulls in a breath instead, puts a hand on Stiles' shoulder, and glances between his son and Derek. "I'll make sure we find as much as we can," he says. Stiles nods, settled, and his dad continues, "You two will have to give me details... in a few days. For now, you'd better call Scott, then get some rest." 

Stiles and Derek nod in sync, even though it's just early evening.

The sheriff pulls Stiles into another hug. Then does the same to Derek, who feels his eyes go wide in shock, and doesn't have time to return it, because the sheriff pulls back and levels him with a look. 

"Couch." 

"Yes sir."

Stiles' laughter and Derek's discomfort escort the sheriff out of the house. They listen to the cruiser pull out, Derek able to follow the noise longer. When Derek looks to Stiles, the teen is smirking.

"Let's go find pillows and blankets," he says, to which Derek responds with a glower. He trails Stiles to a closet near the front door and raises his eyebrows when Stiles pulls out more bedding than one person could possibly need, unless they were planning to suffocate in it.

"Stiles, one pillow and one blanket is good."

"It's not, because I steal both," Stiles retorts, and Derek blinks, not getting it. Stiles snorts. "You're the one with specific sleeping requirements, not me. My dad said nothing about me having to sleep in my bed."

The only thing Derek says is, "Will there be enough room?"

"Let's go find out."

They arrange themselves on the couch, Stiles laying pressed into the back of it, Derek on the edge. They have to press together, but neither have a problem with that, except they try to watch a movie because they aren't tired yet and Stiles has to keep tugging Derek's shoulder down so he can see over him. Eventually Stiles just scoots up and lays his cheek on top of Derek's, and they make it through a few films like that. 

Stiles' phone vibrates against Derek's back near the end of the current movie, and Stiles pulls it up to his ear, saying, "Hey, Lydia!" when he answers. 

Derek hears, _"Allison told me you were back."_

"Yep. Home sweet home."

 _"Well,"_ Lydia's voice is sweet, but there's something behind it. " _Spill, Stilinski."_

"It was a poorly-done kidnapping. You'd think it would have been harder to escape, but-"

" _No, that's not what I'm interested in. Allison mentioned you and Derek Hale being together._ "

Stiles presses his grin into Derek's shoulder, and Derek just plainly smirks. 

"Not bad, right?" Stiles says, to which Derek snorts, and Lydia makes a humming sound.

" _Let's just hope it means you'll be seen around in that jeep less. A camaro is a big step up."_

Stiles huffs into his phone. "Until recently that jeep was my true love," he insists. He presses his face more against Derek's shoulder when Derek lifts his head a little, clearly catching the subtext of that sentence. But Derek just lays his head down again, tugging on the pillow they'd been sharing until he has all of it, to which Stiles makes a grumpy sound. 

Derek keeps his mouth shut about how his heart speeds up and he feels a surge of fear, thinking of his life being destroyed because he'd thought someone had loved him before.  
" _Oh, are you with someone?"_ Lydia asks.

Stiles rests a hand on Derek's back, near where his tattoo is. "Derek is staying with me," he confirms, to which Lydia makes a noise of approval. 

" _Good for you, Stiles,"_ she says, and Derek doesn't know why that makes him kind of like her, even though all he really knows is that she's dating Jackson, that Peter attacked her, and that Stiles previously had feelings for her. All things that don't really paint the best picture. 

Lydia says goodbye, and when Stiles hangs up, there's a bit of silence. 

Derek turns his head to look at Stiles. He studies Stiles' face, and thinks about how his chest kind of jolts, and about everything that's ever happened between him and Stiles. He does the same with Kate, closing his eyes, and knows it's different. He knows it's not the same, and he knows he has every right to be terrified, still. But, more than that, he doesn't want to be.

Stiles raises his eyes at Derek, expectantly, and Derek just says, "You're not getting the pillow back."

"I can take away all kiss privileges," Stiles mutters as a threat, but Derek's amused sneer-grin is all he gets in return, and Stiles ends up climbing over him to grab one of the extra pillows they'd set in the recliner. When he turns back to the couch, Derek has shifted onto his back, and Stiles crosses his arms, but it just looks like he's hugging the pillow. 

"You're not that much bigger than me, but both of us aren't going to fit on that couch with you sprawled all over it," he says.

Derek gives a stretch, and goes sort of limp for a moment before rolling back to his side, and Stiles slots into his spot behind him again. Derek enjoys the press of another person against him, particularly how he can feel Stiles' chest lifting with each breath.

It would have been new to him, except Isaac had developed a habit of situating himself directly between where everyone was sleeping, if they were in a group. So, if Derek slept inside one of the train carts, and Erica or Boyd were in the space outside, Isaac was usually curled up at the door of the cart. But if it was just Derek and Isaac, then Isaac liked to be within a five-foot radius. A radius which shrank throughout the night. He turned out to be a physical-contact sleeper.

Stiles feels different, though. The fact that they're consciously getting as close as they can to one another is what's new to Derek, but not strange. It feels overwhelmingly natural, exactly what his body and brain want him to do. 

Derek rolls over to face Stiles, who makes a small gasp, then grins. He says, "I can still refuse all kisses," which makes Derek stay still where he is, in case Stiles is serious, and Stiles' smile just widens. "But I won't." 

The press of Stiles' lips to Derek's is short, but Stiles only draws away so he can settle back into the couch comfortably. Derek leans in, starting a new kiss. He nips at Stiles' lower lip, and the noise that comes from deep in Stiles' throat makes him do it again. It isn't on purpose, how he basically has the teen pressed into the back of the couch and crowds him in, but neither of them are uncomfortable. 

They push and nudge and grip and Stiles hooks a calf around Derek's leg in an actually graceful movement which puts them flush against one another. It's not just Stiles' heartbeat that's hitched up. The longer the kiss lasts, the more they gasp between each other's lips, into each other's mouths.

As Derek's hands start exploring under Stiles' shirt, Stiles stops to take in a long breath. 

Then yawns.

He looks flustered. But he starts laughing when Derek chuckles, leaning in to place a kiss at Stiles' jawline. His laughter turns into a groan with Derek finding he really doesn't want to stop and follows from the bottom of one ear around to the other, soft placements of his mouth to Stiles' skin. Gentle touches that he knows he's never left on anyone else.

His hands slide back out from beneath Stiles' shirt, and Stiles does a small squirm.

"I liked those where they were," he complains, giving Derek a frown.

"I'm sure you'll appreciate them not being shot off by your dad, too," Derek replies, but tries to make it up by pulling Stiles into him, claiming his mouth with a push of his tongue, a lick over the roof of Stiles' mouth, pulling Stiles' lower lip between his teeth. The almost moronic smile it leaves on Stiles' face is the signal to his successful apology, even though Stiles still tries to make a, 'humph,' sound.

"Just... not tonight, Stiles."

Stiles perks up like he's just recieved the best news in the world. "You're not going to make me stay a virgin until I'm eighteen?"

Derek doesn't even try to stop his expression, eyebrows pulling together, head cocking, and lips raising at the corners. "You smell like sex all the time," he says, and Stiles looks ready to shove his face into his pillow. 

"Oh my god, so every time you've had the others track me for training, they've been following the smell of-"

"It's only part of the way you smell."

"Great, so I smell like masturbation, shit food, and locker room, don't I?"

Derek grins. "Mostly," he says, teasing, but then his face gets more serious. "Not tonight. Not tomorrow, either, unless you want the whole pack hearing us."

"That, I can handle," Stiles says, and goes on through a yawn that makes his speech heavy-sounding, "But if you expected me to make it to eighteen with no sex and with you as my boyfriend, that's crazier than you being a werewolf."

They lie there together and grin at each other. Kiss a little more. Maybe a lot more. 

Only when Derek mirrors a yawn from Stiles do they agree to turn off the television, enclosing the livingroom in the dark. There's a small flash of red that Stiles at first thinks is the light from the DVD player, but then he realizes it's way too close to his face, and he brings a hand up to tap against Derek's cheek.

"What's with the alpha eyes?"

"Hm?"

"They went red."

"...I was thinking that if anyone tried to pull you away from me right now, I'd bite their fingers off." 

There doesn't even have to be light for Derek to tell that Stiles' face is covered in a smile. He's pretty sure it stays there even after he senses Stiles falling asleep. Reaching down to pull the blanket at their feet over them, Derek rests an arm over the sleeping form pressed against him. He listens to the soft breathing, an occasional, nonsensical grumble, and that's what puts him to sleep, too.

He hears the police cruiser pull up in the early morning, he guesses still an hour before it'll start lighting up outside. Derek keeps his eyes shut, keeps himself right where he is, and Stiles right where he is, and waits for the sheriff to come in. 

The front door opens quietly and Mr. Stilinski steps in, stopping to take his shoes off, presumably so they won't clack against the floor. He smells weary, and there's a trace of shock around him. Derek guesses he looks over to the couch, then, because he hears a scoff. Which is followed by a chuckle, and a muttered, "Definitely my son. Never disappoints."

Derek has to contain the way he wants to bark out a laugh and pretends to shift so he can stifle his grin into the arm of the couch. The sheriff goes past the couch as he heads for bed, and reaches down to run a hand over Stiles' head. Before he moves on, he gives Derek's shoulder a pat. 

It's easy for Derek to go back to sleep. 

It's almost noon before anyone in the Stilinski household begins to stir into wakefulness. Derek resolutely clings to sleep as Stiles rouses. But Stiles pushes himself onto his elbows and tries to edge over Derek to get up, and his foot slips when he puts it down on the carpet, making him collapse entirely onto the tired werewolf.

Derek grunts, opening his eyes slowly to glower at Stiles, who's response is a quick kiss, a guilty smirk, and a fast get-away. 

Stiles' feet pound up the stairs, then there's realtive quiet until the shower comes on. Derek tries to let the noise lull him back under, and he thinks it does, but he wakes up again when it turns off. There's a creak, a door opening, the slide and pull of drawers, and a sound that could only be made from Stiles flailing. Then the pounding returns back down the stairs, and then there are quick steps through the livingroom.

He hears a groggy, "Morning, son," from the kitchen, assuming that Stiles' dad just woke up. Then he hears the click of a coffe maker. Then the smell starts to waft around the house, and Derek forces himself out from the blankets. He folds them neatly and leaves them on one of the couch cushions, about to go into the kitchen himself, when he hears Stiles and the sheriff talking.

"Clever move, with the couch."

"Hm, what was clever?" Stiles asks, voice hushed, mouth full of something. It's the least convincing comeback anyone could use, especially because it's clear in his tone how smug he feels.

"Don't think I believe for a second that you and Derek don't both know the age of consent law." 

"I blame my knowledge of any such laws on being the sheriff's son," Stiles quips, and pokes his head around the doorframe, catching Derek standing there. He grins and waves a mug at him, clearly knowing that Derek had overheard, and clearly not caring. "Morning Derek. Want a coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks," Derek accepts, walking into the expanse of a kitchen. He looks to Mr. Stilinski, who raises his eyebrows at him like he wants to bring up the whole couch thing, but doesn't and motions in a way that Derek takes as a, "make yourself at home." Which, in some way, is like he did mention the couch thing, and makes Derek feel a tiny bit of shame.  
There's not a lot of time to dwell on it, because Stiles shoves a box of waffles in his hands, indicating he should make some by raising his eyebrows at the toaster. Derek holds the box up some, glancing to the sheriff. "I'll make two for him. Any for you?"

"I'll have two also, Derek, thank you."

"Why do I only get two?" Stiles huffs, bustling around the coffee maker.

"Shut up, or you won't get any," Derek retorts, glancing up to see if he's stepped a line by talking to Stiles like that, but Stiles' dad looks amused more than anything. 

Stiles looks amused, too, instead of insulted. He looks positively happy, which catches Derek's attention enough that he mindlessly turns the dial on the toaster down to the first level and the first batch doesn't even cook all the way through, so he has to press it down again. Nobody calls him out on it, and he ends up serving up the waffles right as Stiles is handing out coffee. 

They eat in the kitchen, leaned against the counters, and Derek wonders if the sheriff is going to ask them about the "kidnapping," because he's going to have to, at some point. But he doesn't. They just talk about Stiles' homework, which Lydia or Scott apparently collected for him every day and brought over. 

"Did you call Scott?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, tearing his second waffle to shreds as he eats it. It makes Derek think back to the rabbits they'd eaten, wondering if Stiles is doing it on purpose or absently. Or if it's just something distracting Stiles does because he's keeping the truth from his dad again. "He actually invited me to stay over tonight, if that's cool?"

"You haven't asked me to stay over at Scott's since you were thirteen, Stiles."

"I've never been kidnapped before, dad."

Mr. Stilinski sighs so deeply, it slows down his heartbeat some, to Derek's ears. "You need to see your friends. Let them know you're ok."

Stiles nods, face full. "Oh, and I'm pretty sure my fever is gone," he says, downing his cup of coffee and pouring another. "My scratches are itchy, though." 

"Because they're healing," Derek reminds him. 

The sheriff looks approving, while Stiles aggresively eats the last bite of his waffle and mutters about mutiny. 

Right after they've all finished, Derek's phone goes off. He excuses himself and goes into the livingroom before answering, seeing that it's Jackson, of all people.

"Hello?" He asks, instead of, 'why are you calling me?' 

Jackson must be in his car, because there's a low rev in the background of the connection. " _The fridge at your house is empty, so we're stocking it up, and the cabinets..."_ There's a pause, then, " _Is that fine with you?"_

There must be a long silence, because Jackson grouchily says, " _Hello? Derek?"_

"That... That's fine."

_"Ok. We're not going to mess with your family's stuff. We brought over all the sleeping bags and air mattresses."_

"Already?"

" _...When are you and Stilinski going to show up?"_

Derek glances into the kitchen, noticing Stiles and his dad bickering over some yogurt that Stiles is insisting upon his father eating. His voice is eased when he says, "Probably soon. You'll hear us coming." And he adds, "There isn't any tableware." 

" _Got it,"_ Jackson replies, hanging up. 

Derek didn't ever think he'd ever be eager to see his pack, because for a while, he never thought he'd have one again. It's an overwhelmingly good feeling.

Stiles and his dad come into the livingroom, Stiles loping over to where Derek is standing and stopping right in front of him, smirking eyes on level with Derek's. He starts to say something about his dad having the day off, but Derek's phone goes off again. 

Isaac's name glows on the screen. But it's Erica's voice, when he answers. Or, at least, it's Erica talking loudly in the background before Isaac can speak. And she sounds both vicious and on-edge. 

" _Derek, get over here!"_

"What's happening?" Derek says quickly, trying not to make it sound like something is wrong, because the sheriff has settled a few feet away on the couch, but he's tensed. Stiles catches it, putting a hand on the arm Derek isn't holding his phone up with, gripping to him, leaning in to try to hear through the connection. It's mostly Erica making clipped snarls and Isaac talking to her quietly, for a second. Then Isaac speaks. 

" _There's a strange werewolf here. We can smell it."_

Stiles leans in more and brightly talks into the receiver. "Derek and I are on our way." He says it like he's talking to someone expecting them over for a nice dinner, though the seriousness in his eyes shows he heard what Isaac reported. 

They hear Isaac murmur, " _Ok, come quick."_ Then he's hung up. 

The sheriff glances at them over the back of the couch. "You boys going out?"

"Yeah, dad. Is that cool?" Stiles asks, looking for all the world like he can't handle choosing between his father and the pack anymore, but he has to.

His father nods, though. "I have every intention of napping right here on the couch," he says, shifting the pillows that had been left there. "Your jeep is in the garage. We didn't find it until morning the day after you disappeared. Lucky it wasn't damaged in that storm."

The noise that Stiles makes could mean any number of things, and so could the open-mouthed expression across his face. The small hop he does as he turns for the garage, though, is something that Derek takes as elation. 

He and the sheriff share a silent moment of amusement, then Derek thanks him for allowing him to stay and for breakfast, before following after Stiles. He's not surprised to find his packmate-plus-boyfriend already in the jeep, having snatched his keys from a pegboard. 

Derek barely has the passenger door shut before Stiles has hit the button to open the garage door and starts backing out. 

"They're at your house, right?" He asks, anxious gaze flicking over to Derek. Derek nods, watching how Stiles manouvers the jeep easily, arms stretched so that both hands grip the steering wheel, gaze intensely looking out the windshield. There's only a minimal amount of speeding involved, but it makes up the difference. 

Derek feels it when they start driving along the forested road. He's alert before it even fully gets into his system. 

A beta. Completely alone, not unharmed, and not entirely healthy. But obviously here with intentions. Probably not intentions to find a pack, but that's what it's going to face, if it shows itself to Derek or any of the others.

He feels that it's keeping a distance, but not enough of one.

He also feels his betas' conflicting states of guard, apprehension, and suspicion. And he feels how the sight of the jeep flying up to the front of the house soothes them slightly. The sight of them does that exact thing for Derek.

Stiles has his door open and is leaning out of the jeep before he's even cut the engine, practically swinging out and going quickly to where Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are close together on the porch. Erica is leaned into Boyd's chest, but standing in a strong stance, and both she and Boyd have a hand on Isaac's left arm. Isaac breaks away from them, however, to meet Stiles on the steps. 

Derek is quickly there with them, hand on Isaac's forearm, and before he knows he's done it, the other hand snags onto Stile's shirt between his shoulder blades. He doesn't know when he started actively touching these two, but he knows he's not quite there yet with the others. 

"It's just the scent, right now," Isaac says, composed except for how he shifts his gaze behind them and to the sides, then back. 

"Jackson, Scott, and Allison left to go to the store a little while ago," Boyd says. 

Derek looks up at him. "I know, Jackson called." He pauses, expression drawn as he analyzes his betas, then moreso when he finds himself meeting Stiles' gaze. He wants them all safe. "We shouldn't go looking for it," he decides, and waits as he gets four nods. "It'll come out if it wants anything to do with us, and if it doesn't, we'll give it the message that it should move on."

"Should I call Scott and tell him what's up?" Stiles asks, already going for his phone.

"Just tell him they should be fast."

Derek's about to lead them all inside, but he doesn't take a single step before Stiles leans into him absently, clicking away a text. Derek's hand un-clenches his grasp on the teen's shirt, going up into his brown fuzz, fingers brushing through the softness of it. Derek realizes he hasn't kissed Stiles in what seems like too long, so he waits, and then he does, when Stiles lifts his head from his phone. 

The surprised, pleased groan that Stiles lets out, and the instantaneous response of his mouth moving against Derek's own is entierly what Derek needed. 

Isaac retreats back to Erica and Boyd, probably feeling like he's intruding. But when Derek and Stiles break away from each other, turning to walk into the Hale house, the three betas are all looking at the two of them in their own versions of fondness. 

They go inside to wait. Derek is shocked, once again, at how just a pile of sleeping bags and air matresses makes some of the space look lived-in again. The pangs of memories conflict with the warmth trying to make it's way through him. Though the warmth wins out when Stiles by-passes the stuff that was brought over and instead flops onto the green sofa that survived the fire. Because they can fill this place with new things, and they're going to have to, but Derek doesn't want to forget the old things or hide them away. Stiles seems to know. 

The scent of the intruder gets a little stronger after some time has passed, and it doesn't distance itself again, even as Jackson's porche approaches. When Jackson and Scott get out of the car, they're both half-changed, claws and fangs protruding. Allison follows, clutching a crossbow. 

They're only on the porch, with everyone inside greeting them in the entry, when a growl rips from the trees behind them. Then all of the pack is outside, some in beta form, others with-holding, but prepared. Allison is poised to shoot. And Stiles stands there, not hidden behind a single one of them, like he's as strong as they are, like he will join any fight with as much ferocity. And he will.

The growl seems to have only been a device to get their attention. The form of a woman emerges very slowly, wary. She stays on the brink of the trees, swaying like she's torn between holding her ground or bolting. 

"What do you want?" Stiles calls out, and she snaps her gaze to him. 

"I wanted to find you." 

Everyone has different reactions. Stiles simply tilts his head back a little and raises an eyebrow. "What for?"

The woman pauses and leans forward, like she's looking more closely, then she says, "Because you saved us all." 

The pack glance at each other, then all look to Stiles and Derek. Jackson is about to open his mouth, but Stiles cuts him off quickly, comprehending. "You were captured too." 

"Yes."

"But how did we save you?" It's Derek who asks, looking at her hard. 

She goes a little rigid at being spoken to by him, but calls out, "You caused a third of their ranks to be indisposed. Then another third went searching for you both. It was easy, then, to overpower the rest while they weren't expecting it." 

There's silence, but it's already sunken in to both Derek and Stiles. The other werewolves that had been captured must have made their move, then tracked down the hunters that had been coming after the two of them. That's what the sirens were about. That was the murder scene Stiles' dad had been called to. That meant...

"I just came to tell you that you are safe now..." 

"Because you killed them all," Stiles finishes. And he doesn't know how he feels. It isn't an accusation, just a statement. Because he knows that the hunters would have taken this woman and all those other werewolves to their deaths. Deep inside, he thinks he wants to believe it's better this way, because at least it wasn't for sport, but for survival. 

And deep inside, he does feel safer because of the news. He doesn't feel like prey anymore. Of course there will be more danger. But he doesn't have to expect it to come find him. At least not now. 

Everyone shifts, the feeling that this beta has nothing more to say settling around them. Derek asks her, "Do you have a place to go?" It takes her a moment, but she nods. So he says, "Then you should leave now." 

She blinks at him. It's a slow gesture. One of respect. Then she turns and goes back into the trees. It doesn't take long for her scent to drift off and tell them she's far enough away and isn't turning back. 

They all look between each other. Their defenses lower. Claws and fangs disappear. Crossbows are brought down. Eyes stop glowing. 

Stiles and Derek are pressed shoulder-against-shoulder. They are home with their pack. 

"Ok, it's time for you both to tell us what happened," Erica says, folding her arms. Her wide, expressive eyes give them a look that completely says, 'Every detail.'

But Scott gives a grumble. "We have to bring in all the food. Then they can tell us." 

Everyone shuffles to the porche, passing bags to each other, bickering about who will carry in what, until Boyd just grabs the two totes of water bottles and begins the trail of werewolves bringing in groceries. Stiles grins the whole time. Derek feels at home... in a new way.

They settle in a pile and Stiles goes through everything that happened. 

They all call him out on the up-tick of his heartbeat when he gets to the part where they broke out of the truck and tries to assure them that he knocked out one of their captors. Even Allison, who can't even hear his heartbeat. 

Stiles isn't annoyed by it, though. How could he be, when he's sitting on the floor, leaned back against Derek's legs as the alpha sits on the sofa, a hand sifting through Stiles' hair. Both of them surrounded with other people they care about, rely on, and missed. 

There's more to come. What they have now is good, but further on, when Derek is able to trust each of them, and let himself need them all... then it'll be wonderful. 

A week later Stiles meets Derek in the woods, far from where they had been captured. Derek had caught his scent and stopped to wait for him. He's waiting as Stiles treads his way over. They share a kiss, one of the countless amount they've had since the first. Stiles purposefully draws it out until Derek is breathless, then nudges him and takes off. And he runs with the wolf.


End file.
